


The Boy

by bornofstars



Series: The Boy [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: All The Tropes, Canon-Typical Violence, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Parent Darth Vader, Tatooine (Star Wars), Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25332163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bornofstars/pseuds/bornofstars
Summary: Upon investigating the Rebel spy captured in Tatooine, Vader is surprised to find a thirteen-year-old boy, seemingly a ghost from a life that he'd rather forget...
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader
Series: The Boy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903837
Comments: 51
Kudos: 591





	The Boy

“You are _not_ going.” 

Uncle Owen’s voice was gruffer than usual, and Luke winced at the tremor he heard behind the words. He pulled his boot up and tied it closed. 

“It’s a twenty minute speeder ride.” Luke said, standing up once he was done. “And Doctor Kismet said that he wouldn’t be able to come to the farm until tomorrow morning.” 

Luke watched for some form of conflict to pass over his Uncle’s face, but it was like he was carved out of stone. His nose was red and running, but the rest of his skin was pale and clammy beneath the usual tan. He’d never seen him look like this, and although Luke was acting as though nothing were wrong, he couldn’t help but feel alarmed. 

“I am not letting you wreck the speeder and get caught without your license.” Owen replied. “You’re thirteen!” 

Luke snorted, crossing his arms. 

“I’ve been able to pilot since I could see over the throttle.” He said. “I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Uncle Owen was clearly unwell; Luke could tell when no thunderous retort came back. Even on a backwards dustball like Tatooine, his illegal piloting could land them in some real trouble. 

“Luke,” Owen sighed exasperatedly. “It’s not necessary. If you want to be useful, go and sort the evaporator out on the south-” He interrupted himself with a bout of coughing, and Luke reached forward as he crumpled over in pain. He was quickly swatted away. 

“Get off!” Owen said hoarsely. “The last thing we need is you getting sick as well.” 

Luke backed off, and debated reminding his Uncle that he didn’t get sick. _Ever._ He hadn’t come with Owen and Beru to the market, where they’d presumably picked up whatever sickness they were currently dealing with. Anchorhead was a place people got ill. People lived almost on top of each other, spacers came and went, bringing all sorts of toxins and germs from mining colonies and other ports. But Luke never seemed to catch anything, no matter how often he frequented the junk markets, or haggled for droid parts and scrap. 

“I’m fine.” Luke said instead. He raised his hands placatingly, the way he’d watched his Aunt Beru when she calmed Uncle Owen. “You need to sit down.” 

“You a doctor now?” Uncle Owen huffed, but there wasn’t the usual bite in his words. He took an unsteady seat at the kitchen table. 

“I think I should go and see Doctor Kismet.” Luke said, for the third time that morning. 

“Doctor Kismet said he was busy all day.” Uncle Owen replied, leaning back heavily into his seat. 

“Too busy to make a house-call,” Luke corrected. “But he said we were welcome to come in.”

“Your Aunt’s too tired to get in the speeder. The heat’s too much.” Owen said. “And I can’t leave her alone.” 

Luke finally understood when adults said that something was like pulling teeth. He tried his best not to sound impatient when he spoke again. This was not the first time that they’d had this conversation. 

“Then _I’ll_ go down to the medical centre, and get you medicine. I’ll be back before you know it.” 

Uncle Owen looked as though he were about to argue, but a weak cry came from the back bedroom. The illness had hit Beru far harder than him. 

“Let him go, Owen.” Aunt Beru called. She sounded weak and frail, and when Luke locked eyes with his Uncle, he saw his own fear reflected into his gaze. Owen chewed at his lip for a moment, before giving a loud, rasping sigh. 

With a weary nod, Uncle Owen gestured to where the speeder’s keys were hung by the door. 

“Do **not** pull any reckless stunts.” He warned. “You’ll be in big trouble if you’re caught up to mischief.” 

Luke thought of the rides he’d taken looping through the twilight, and the way he pushed the throttle to its limit every time he was unsupervised on the farm. He gave his best solemn, adult nod. 

“What mischief could I possibly get up to on Tatooine?” He asked. “ I’ll be back soon.” 

On the way out of the door, Uncle Owen hobbled up behind him to call out a final warning. 

“And if there is a single _scratch_ to that speeder, you’ll be in for a world of pain!” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Luke called back over his shoulder. He felt a guilty rush of adrenaline as he jumped up into the pilot’s seat. It wasn’t right to be so giddy, but he couldn’t help the joy he experienced as he flipped on the repulser-lift and carefully navigated around the security shield. It wasn’t the first time he had piloted alone; far from it. But this was his first Adult Mission, and Luke sat up high in his seat as he rode smoothly across the dunes. 

The repulser lifts sent up a gritty veil of sand as Luke sped up towards Anchorhead. In the passenger seat, his Uncle’s rifle gleamed under the twin suns. Luke kept a careful eye on the horizon, recalling the countless cautionary tales he had heard about the Tusken Raiders. His own grandmother had been killed by them, years before he had been born. He’d been confronted by them several times, and they’d come to the neighbouring farms in raids, but he doubted that any would try and attack him whilst he was in his speeder. Nevertheless, Luke watched his surroundings as he navigated the vast wastelands. 

He’d been to see Doctor Kismet for treatment only once, when he’d cut open his hand on the rough edge of an old droid’s chest plate. Aunt Beru often bought bacta patches from him whenever they were at the market, and Luke always came in to say hello. He lived right in the heart of the trading post, and was one of the few sentient doctors around. Luke had heard, mostly from visiting navigators or spacers, that the rest of the galaxy only used medical droids, and a real doctor was a relic from the past. Luke didn’t know if they were just tall tales, told to scare gullible kids from the outer rim, but he knew he’d much rather have a real person helping him if he felt sick, especially Doctor Kismet. He was kind and had twinkly eyes, with white hair and leathery skin. There were always boiled candies to take, and his little droid was one of the quirkiest designs Luke had ever come across. 

Luke was pulled from the peaceful reverie that came with flying. It was his favourite thing to do in the world, one of the reasons why he was so desperate to get off of Tatooine and become a pilot, once he was old enough. He’d found himself day-dreaming about his father, the faceless freighter he thought of so often. 

It took him a few moments to notice the convoy of Imperial speeders, a safe distance away, parked up in the dunes. A shiver of apprehension cut through him, and Luke slowly listed to the right, lengthening his journey. It would take slightly longer this way, but he’d rather get to Kismet’s undetected. 

Somehow, he didn’t think the Imperials would be too happy to see a thirteen year old behind the throttles. 

* * *

  
  


Commander Oswald stepped out onto the sand with a feeling of disdain.

The heat was deplorable. He questioned, not for the first time that day, just what he had done to deserve such a punishment. Oswald promised himself to never take the conditioned temperature of a Star Destroyer for granted again. 

Tatooine. One of the most scum-infested, arid, hell-holes in the outer rim. It was controlled by the Hutts, and mostly did not interfere with the Imperial regime. The system’s Governor focused their power on more respectable planets, - something Oswald understood, judging by the local’s and his surroundings. There didn’t seem to be much that was redeemable around here. 

He had come with only three stormtroopers, sent from the Governor’s personal legion. His own troopers were back at base, camped out in the dunes with the shuttle. 

This was hardly the type of job Commander Oswald was used to. He’d adjusted accordingly; less troopers created a false sense of serenity, and gave Oswald the edge that he needed. 

“How would you like to proceed, Sir?” A trooper asked from his side. Oswald glanced down at his blaster, imagining the fear that it would cause. Fear that he would have to control. 

“Wait by the speeders.” He said. “Send through any relayed information from base camp.” 

“Yes, Sir.” The trooper saluted. Oswald didn’t want to keep the troopers out beneath the sun, but it was necessary. He wiped sweat from his own brow, wishing once more for a less humid planet. 

Kismet’s medical centre was like a crude imitation of civilisation. The walls were sandstone, with curving arches instead of auto-doors. Oswald had to duck down to avoid bumping his head. The waiting room was devoid of life, and sand had gathered behind the legs of chairs, out of reach from the old model cleaning droid, who scrubbed past him in a strange zig-zag pattern. There was no reception droid, merely an unmanned desk stacked high with datapads and stained with several rings from mugs of caf. Oswald felt the sweat on his back and neck cooling instantly, noting that the air was controlled by several vents on the walls and ceilings. A radio played a static tune, fading in and out. Oswald wanted very much to turn it off, but resisted. 

A battered service droid, small and on one single wheel, rolled in and stopped once it caught sight of Oswald. There were several seconds of stand-off, before a garbled voice came out. 

“Hello. If you’d like to make an appointment, select a time from the following-”

Oswald took a step over the droid, which interrupted itself with an indignant string of binary, affronted at Oswald’s decision to completely ignore its protocol. 

In the back room, which was cooler than the reception, sat Doctor Kismet. He had looked far younger in his identification file, but then again, most of the residents of Tatooine had neither the time nor finances to update their documents. That, and a common dislike for Imperials. 

The man looked rather surprised to see Oswald, but there was no hint of fear in his face as he stood from behind his desk. The expression did not belong to such a frail looking person. Rather, Oswald noted the stiff jaw, the polite smile, seen many times on high-command rebels. He tucked that information away for later.

The room had two small cots pushed up against the wall, a powered-down med-droid, and shelves groaning under the weight of boxes of some form of second-rate bacta gel, a tangle of medical-looking wires, and packets of tablets and antibiotics. 

“Hello,” The man said slowly. He made no move to walk out from behind his desk, but otherwise seemed quite relaxed. Oswald bowed his head in greeting, pulling on his own smile. He was not a particularly approachable looking man; Uniform aside, he was rather tall and stocky, and a scar over his eye did not make him seen friendly by any means. 

“Doctor Kismet, is it?” Oswald asked. The man nodded, hands folding neatly in front of him. Not quite a nervous tick, but a posturing defensiveness Oswald instantly catalogued. He knew that awkward silences only raised tension, and that was not his goal. He cleared his throat, pretending to look around. 

“I’m Commander Oswald,” He introduced. He coloured his tone with a slight bashfulness of an off-worlder. “I’m hoping that you can help me.” 

The Doctor blinked, but his composure did not sway. “Of course.” He answered, then paused. “…Is it a medical issue?” 

“Oh,” Oswald laughed, swatting his hand as if swatting the words away. “No, no. I don’t suppose that you heard what happened on Rodia? I believe it was broadcast on the Imperial News Network.” 

Doctor Kismet gave him a tight, polite smile, and shrugged. “I’m sorry,” He apologised. “We don’t hear much out here.” 

“Ah,” Oswald replied. He paused, glancing back over his shoulder to the waiting room. “Have I come at a bad time?” 

“I have no patients for a while.” Kismet said. “Would you take a seat?” 

Oswald sat across from the Doctor. 

“So, Rodia.” Oswald said after they had both settled. “I won’t take up too much of your time, so I’ll cut it short. A rebel was caught in the Rodia sector. Came in on their X-wing, none the wiser. When Imperial forces caught them, they started standard interrogation procedures.” 

He chose his words carefully, watching and noting every micro expression that moved across Kismet’s face. He did not know definitively that Kismet was involved with the Rebel Alliance; - he was still waiting on the intel, - but from the way he minutely twitched, Oswald felt certainty begin to solidify. 

“The Rebel passed through Tatooine.” Oswald continued. “They had a bacta patch over the sternum. We’re checking in with the medics from here to Rodia, trying to piece the puzzle back together.” 

The puzzle was, in fact, mostly assembled. Far more than Oswald was letting on. It would be a waste of time and resources to actually check each medical centre for a match. Probe droids and security footage had traced the rebel to Anchorhead, and the sand wedged in his boots had matched with the grain found on Tatooine. What Oswald was investigating was the chemical substance they’d found in the rebel’s system, during his autopsy. 

“I treat a lot of spacers and traders.” Kismet said apologetically. “And a bacta patch isn’t a particularly rare treatment. Perhaps, if you have a holo of the man?” 

Oswald paused for effect. 

“I don’t remember saying they were male.” He remarked in a light tone. The Doctor froze up for a tense second, tripped over and very much aware of it. He smoothed out instantly, and the moment passed so quickly that a less-trained man would have missed it. 

“I just assume.” Kismet said. “Not many female traders take this route alone.” 

“Indeed.” Oswald looked around. “I see why.” 

He pulled out a holo of the man’s standard photo pre-interrogation. Kismet squinted at it, and Oswald searched for any recognition in his expression. There was _something_ there, but not what he was looking for. He eased off a little, knowing inevitably that he would trip up once more. 

“I’m unsure if I remember him.” Kismet said finally. “I’m sorry, I could check my files, if you’d like?” 

“That would be very helpful.” Oswald replied. 

Kismet stood from behind his desk and started pulling at data-pads and flimsies. A spray of sand came out and hit the floor with a barely audible smatter. 

“It was two weeks ago, we believe.” Oswald said to fill the silence as the Doctor searched. 

“I treated a burn to the sternum around that time, although I barely recall the fellow. My droid is equipped to perform basic procedures, it might have been his handiwork.” Kismet murmured, not looking up from his datapad. “Would this be him?” 

Oswald took the pad from the man’s withered hands, noting the small chemical burns that had discoloured the skin around his fingers. He read over the standard patient notes, the blatantly faked name, and the barest details. Male, human. Superficial laceration via heat burn on abdomen. Bacta treatment and local anaesthetic applied. 

In the silence that stretched on as Oswald read, he expected the babbling to begin. Many of his former classmates from the Academy thought that his job as an interrogator involved all sorts of torture and violence. Although it did, often, a lot of Oswald’s work could be done with just the right amount of tension and strain. An awkward quiet made people want to talk. 

But the Doctor remained relatively composed as he waited for Oswald to finish. He stacked away the rest of his datapads neatly back onto the desk, occupying himself as not to seem uncomfortable. 

“This has been very useful,” Oswald said, standing. He noticed immediately that Kismet visibly relaxed. He thought he was in the clear. 

“I’m glad to be of any assistance.” Kismet said. “I’m sorry I don’t remember the details.”

“Quite alright, Doctor.” Oswald answered. He was walked slowly to the door, and turned at the last second. Blocking the exit without letting on that he was. 

“Say, you’re a medical man.” He said, as though only just thinking of it.. “I have a question for you.” Oswald smiled. “I majored in logistics, not xeno-medicine.” 

The Doctor laughed, almost sounding genuine. Oswald took it as permission to go ahead. 

“This rebel,” He said. “When we caught him, as I mentioned earlier, we conducted standard interrogation protocol. Do you know what that entails?” 

Kismet shook his head. 

“Well, the first stage is simply asking for the truth. Obtaining their name, what planet they hail from, their feelings towards the Empire…” Oswald trailed off. “Most of the time, we don’t get honest answers, if they answer at all.” 

Oswald got no answer, just a glance up to acknowledge his words. 

“This rebel did not comply, so we were forced to advance to stage two.” 

A minute twitch of the Doctor’s hands made Oswald bite on the flesh of his cheek to stop from smiling. 

“We tried a lot of different methods with our little rebel, but found him to be rather stubborn.” Oswald took a step forward, pushing the Doctor back slightly into the centre. He felt his com link vibrate in his pocket, but ignored it. 

“It’s a well-known secret that you cannot hide from the Empire. The truth will always out.” 

The Empire’s truth serum was a terrifying cautionary tale to the rebellion. But unlike most tales, there was no exaggeration or embroidery. The serum could loosen the lip’s of the Alliance’s high command, the potency unmatched, the results always obtained. Many rebels did not believe it to exist, thinking it was a rumour made to terrify them into compliance. They were usually corrected quite quickly, Oswald found. 

“Imagine our surprise,” Oswald continued. “When we administered the truth serum, that the rebel was able to resist our might.” 

Kismet’s eyes had narrowed slightly, and his fists were clenched behind his back. He looked like a womp-rat in a speeder’s lights as Oswald advanced on him. 

“We shot him, of course. When we were finished.” He smiled. “And conducted a toxicology to find just what was impeding Imperial business.” 

“Fascinating,” Kismet said finally. His voice was surprisingly steady, and any friendliness had vanished from his tone, Oswald noted. For an old man, he was tough.

“Doctor Kismet,” Oswald said. “Are you working for the Rebel Alliance?” 

“No.” He answered firmly. 

Oswald sighed, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Kismet,” Oswald said. “You know how the interrogation process works. I’ve just explained it to you. Are you certain that you’d like to advance?” 

Kismet’s entire face seemed to harden into the sand-stone which surrounded them. “I have nothing to hide.” 

“No?” Oswald asked. He reached forward, grabbing the older man’s frail wrist. He held his hand up to the light. 

“The compound we found in his bloodstream fights the effects of our serum.” Oswald said. “One of the ingredients is exclusive to the Tatoo system. Only stable when mixed with neutralisers. Leaves chemical burns, I’ve heard.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I burnt my hands soldering my droid.” 

Oswald sighed, pulling out his comlink. 

“Bring the binders,” He said. He cast Kismet a glance all of false sympathy, but inside his heart sped up with excitement. 

Perhaps he’d have some fun on Tatooine after all. 

  
  


* * *

Luke drew closer to the med-centre later than he would have liked. Seeing Imperial speeders had shaken him quite thoroughly, and he hadn’t risked being pulled over without a license, - not to mention piloting as a child. 

He expected a large crowd, as there usually was at the trading port. Instead, it seemed as though everybody had retreated into the dome buildings and cantinas. It was eerily quiet as he turned the corner, before he almost came to a complete stop. 

Two stormtroopers stood by the entrance to Kismet’s. They looked almost bored, both holding blasters and leaning against the wall. Luke gulped, knowing that he had already been spotted. He pulled up a safe distance away, already wording his excuse as he turned off the thrusters and engine. It was a desperate situation, and neither his Aunt or Uncle were well enough to pilot, or even come out into the heat. Luke had been their only hope to get medicine. If he could just see Doctor Kismet, then he’d be on his way. 

Luke worried what had happened to the Doctor. Luke really did like the strange old man. His heart began to pound as he thought about all of the possibilities; maybe he’d fallen ill himself. 

But what would the Empire want with Kismet? Why were they on Tatooine in the first place? He knew that the governor had his own troopers, but he stayed in the most rich area on the planet, not wanting any association with the scum of Mos Eisley and the farmers. 

All Luke knew, was that this couldn’t be good. 

Luke’s feet hadn’t hit the floor when the two troopers made their way over to him. He gave them his best honest face, stopping still and waiting for them to approach. 

“What were you doing in that speeder by yourself?” The closest trooper asked. His voice was full of adult accusation, but Luke resisted the urge to hang his head. 

“My Aunt and Uncle are ill,” He replied. “I’ve come to see Doctor Kismet. They need help, quickly.” 

The trooper turned and spoke into a comlink, too quiet for Luke to detect. The other trooper simply stared at him, making him feel rather uncomfortable as he stood there in the hot sand. 

“Doctor Kismet isn’t available,” The first trooper said. “Mos Espa has a doctor there.” 

“But I spoke to him over the com,” Luke insisted in a panic. “Please, I won’t be a minute!” 

The troopers looked at each other for several moments, and Luke wanted to yell that he _had_ to see Doctor Kismet. He thought of how weak Aunt Beru had looked, spread out on the sofa with a cool cloth over her forehead, how Uncle Owen had stumbled over each time he’d tried to stand tall and strong. 

“Alright, kid.” The trooper said. He placed an armoured hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Come with me.” 

The inside of Kismet’s medical centre was as barren and empty as Luke had ever seen it. It was usually always heaving with deep-space pilots, freighters, and even the odd smuggler. Today it was completely bare, which made Luke’s brow furrow as he looked around. Doctor Kismet had said he was busy all day, too busy to make a house call. He had assumed he’d meant with patients. Luke had never considered that it would be with _Imperials._ What would they want with old Doctor Kismet? 

One trooper stayed by Luke, his hand still firmly holding him by the shoulder. He wanted to shrug the hand away, but thought better of it. The other trooper disappeared behind the curving hall to the back room, the same room Luke had been whisked into, with a hand clutching a bloody towel after he’d cut open his palm. There was a strange dripping sound, and heavy breathing, but there was no sign that there was anybody else there besides Luke and the troopers. 

A few moments later, a man came into the waiting room. He was tall and imposing, despite the smile on his face that was meant to be friendly. Something felt _off_ with him, though he supposed the uniform was rather intimidating to most residents of Tatooine. He was drying his hands on a rag. There was a large scar on his face, and his dark Imperial clothes were pressed and neat. Too pale to be a native. Luke met his eyes as best as he could, trying to seem older, more grown up. 

“Hello,” Luke said, as confidently as he could manage. “I need to see Doctor Kismet.” 

The man laughed, but Luke didn’t think that he was really laughing. It gave him a nasty feeling in his stomach. Something felt wrong, like a shift in the air around him. 

“Doctor Kismet isn’t available.” The man answered with an apologetic smile. 

Luke hesitated, thinking about going home and cutting his losses. He had no idea what his Aunt and Uncle were sick with. For all he knew, it could kill them. He needed that medicine, and he had run out of time.

“I called ahead,” Luke lied. “And made an appointment.” 

The man seemed to analyse him for several moments, tilting his head slightly.

“Ah.” The man replied finally. “Of course, my friend. Come right this way.” 

Luke looked over his shoulder hesitantly, and the trooper dropped his hand back to his side. Surely it wasn’t that easy? Did he know that Luke was lying? 

He didn’t miss the strange look that was exchanged by the troopers, who promptly headed back outside. Luke got the distinct impression that something was wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, but he repressed the blaring instinct that told him to turn tail and run. He followed the Imperial around the curve and into the patient room. 

  
  


The sight before him made him gasp, and before he knew what he was doing he was running forward. Another trooper, hidden behind a shelf, appeared out of nowhere and grabbed him roughly around the waist, impeding him. Luke let out a startled cry, immediately beginning to struggle. 

Doctor Kismet was strapped down to the medical bed, his hands wrapped together with binders. There was a drip of some sort, suspended above his head. There was a periodic drip of fluid hitting him squarely on the forehead, and he moaned in despair each time, eyes half-closed. He was chalky pale, and he looked as though he had been gravely ill, or lost a lot of blood. He didn’t seem to notice Luke’s sudden dramatic arrival. 

The Imperial watched his reaction with unguarded amusement. 

“Doctor Kismet is occupied, as you were warned.” He said. His lip curled up in disgust, and he addressed the trooper. “Of course, the Rebellion would recruit _children._ ” 

“Rebellion?!” Luke said, stilling for a moment out of pure shock. “I’m just here to get some medicine!”

“A likely story,” The Imperial replied. And then; “Strap him down, too.” 

The trooper moved and expertly caught both of Luke’s flailing wrists. 

“No, no! You don’t understand!” Luke yelled. “Get off of me!” 

It was a fruitless endeavour to struggle, but Luke tried in vain. He was hauled up off of his feet and thrown down onto the other medical chair, and a set of binders snapped onto his wrists. Luke felt as though he were spinning, breathing quickly in his panic. He glanced over at the Doctor, but he barely seemed to know where he was, let alone what was happening to Luke. 

“This is a mistake,” Luke said, trying to look around the room. A belt held his shoulders in place, making his neck feel tight as he thrashed around, trying to see what was happening. 

“Make contact with the _Devastator_ _.”_ The Imperial was saying. “Tell them we’ve found the contact.” 

“Yes, Commander.” The trooper replied, though his voice sounded hesitant and uncertain. 

A hand on Luke’s chest made him still. He stared up at the Imperial, trying his best to appear truthful. 

“Please, I promise! I’m not a rebel!” He cried out. The man ran a soothing hand over his front, and Luke’s stomach rolled. He just wanted to go… he would risk going to Mos Espa, hell, he would go off-planet to fetch for a doctor. 

“What’s your name, Son?” The man asked softly. “Tell me your name.” 

“It’s not…” Doctor Kismet groaned, sounding like Uncle Owen when he’d had a big glass of Corellian whiskey. The urgency in his voice was drowned out, like he was shouting through a pane of glass. “I’t’s not him…” 

The Imperial ignored him, clicking his fingers to gain Luke’s attention. 

“Luke.” He answered. “I’m just Luke.” 

“Hello, Luke.” The Imperial replied. “I’m Commander Oswald.” 

Luke glanced over once more at Doctor Kismet, who looked as though he would be falling to the floor, if not for the restraints. 

“Hello.” He replied, uncertainly.

Commander Oswald stepped back and entered something into his datapad. 

“I think we got off on the wrong foot just then,” He said. “I just need to ask you some questions.” 

“…Alright.” Luke said, laying back slowly, wincing at the tug of the restraints. 

“So, Just Luke.” He said with a smile. “You’re Doctor Kismet’s friend?” 

“I just came to get some medicine.” Luke answered hastily. “My Aunt and Uncle are sick.” 

Oswald nodded sympathetically, still typing on his datapad. 

“Why didn’t your Aunt and Uncle come with you? You’re too young to be travelling alone.” 

Luke swallowed, feeling incredibly hot despite the cooler air of indoors. 

“They were too sick to travel.” Luke replied. “And Doctor Kismet said he couldn’t come to the house.” 

“So, you made an appointment?” Oswald asked, finally looking up. Luke hesitated, wondering if he should keep lying. He’d be in deeper trouble if he started back-tracking now. 

“Yes.” He said shortly. 

Oswald cocked his head. 

“Oh?” He asked. He looked down at the datapad in his hand. “You aren’t on the schedule at all. There’s no Luke on here.” 

“He must have forgotten.” Luke supplied. A strange gleam in the man’s eyes made him close his mouth. He knew he’d made a mistake. 

“Hm. Alright.” Oswald said. “I didn’t catch your last name, Luke.” 

“Luke Skywalker.” He supplied. He was feeling increasingly helpless. The Doctor was in far worse shape. He hadn’t moved since he’d last tried to speak. 

“Thank you,” Oswald said. “Now, let’s go over your day.” 

“My Uncle and Aunt got sick, a few days ago.” Luke started. He went to speak again, but was interrupted. 

“Sick how?” Oswald asked gently. 

“Uh, they just came down with fever, and felt very weak.” Luke said lamely. He wanted to say he wasn’t a doctor, and how was he to know what they had caught, but was too frightened to say so. 

“And you’re not feeling sick at all?” Oswald said. He placed the back of his hand on Luke’s forehead, ignoring his flinch. “You’re not warm.” 

“No, I.. I don’t tend to get sick.” Luke replied slowly, only exhaling when the hand was withdrawn. 

“Lucky you.” Oswald smiled. “So, you came from a farm, I’m guessing?” 

Luke nodded. “The Lars moisture farm.” 

“Lars? Not Skywalker?” 

“My father’s last name.” Luke said. “I never knew him.” 

“Alright.” Oswald said. He spared a glance over at Kismet, and turned off the drip. Luke had completely tuned out the sound of droplets, and almost forgotten it was still on. 

Commander Oswald disappeared back through into the waiting room, and Luke desperately began to struggle in his restraints. It was like durasteel. He threw his head back against the cushion of the medical bed, feeling frustrated tears welling up behind his closed eyes. 

“I’m -I’m sorry,-” A voice rasped, and Luke turned to see Doctor Kismet, looking over at him weakly. “It’s all my fault…” 

Luke was at a loss for what to say, but he felt a stab of guilt at the sadness he saw in the old man’s eyes. 

“I’m okay,” He said back. “This is all a misunderstanding.” 

“No, noooo…” Doctor Kismet crooned, closing his eyes. “He’s just a boy…” 

Luke looked back at the corridor. Commander Oswald had returned, and was pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. Behind him, an ominous droid hovered, glinting strangely. Luke gulped, feeling his blood freeze in his veins. 

“Now, I wasn’t equipped to interrogate two people.” He said with a smile. “Budget cuts, but what can you do?” He paused. 

“So, I’ll get back to you shortly, Doctor.” 

“I am working for the rebellion.” Kismet cried weakly. Luke’s eyes widened in horror, but Oswald only gave a snort. 

“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious, Doctor.” He replied dryly. “As I said, I will get back to you at my convenience.” 

Oswald then approached Luke, who had begun to thrash even more. He knew it was useless, but every instinct in his body was telling him to get up and _run._

_“_ I’m going to ask you some questions again.” The Commander said. “And this time, I want the truth.” 

The droid followed him into the room. 

“Please, I was telling the truth.” Luke said. To his horror, he felt tears welling in his eyes, and a lump forming in the back of his throat. Desperation made his heart pound. 

“You’re the first rebel operative I’ve come across so young.” Oswald said cheerfully. “I’m going to enjoy having a conversation with you, I think.” 

The Commander clapped his hands together, gloves making a strange bass noise. 

“Why are you here?” He asked. He was smiling again, but Luke saw the true meaning behind the bared teeth, the shine in his eyes. 

“To pick up medicine…” Luke started. A wave of frustration filled him. He _was_ telling the truth! 

“Oh, Luke.” Oswald sighed. “You can do better than that.” 

  
  
  
  
  


A blood-curdling scream interrupted the trooper’s conversation outside. 

“Oswald was sent to the outer rim after killing too many prisoners without reason, I heard.” One of the troopers said, casting a glance over his shoulder. 

The other trooper shifted uncomfortably as the boy’s cry broke off abruptly. 

“I don’t doubt it.” He replied, shuffling his blaster around. 

* * *

The helm of the _Devastator_ collectively stiffened when Lord Vader entered the bridge. He felt several eyes glance up, before hastily going back to the ground. They were in orbit of the Tatoo system, a place Vader had not been for many years. He’d avoided the place successfully for a long time, so it was inevitable that a mission would eventually pull him back to his home planet. 

He was irritable. The crew he was serving with were as incompetent as they were frightened, almost too petrified to deliver a status report whenever he asked. Many of his favoured staff had been unavailable for this mission. The occupants of the bridge seemed to pick up on his restlessness, and gave him a clearer berth than usual. 

His master had sent him here as punishment. His expertise and skill set was woefully above such a small lead as a rebel cell in the outer rim, and they both knew it. Palpatine had sent him with a feral excitement, knowing how many memories would burn in his apprentice’s mind. Vader had killed a Grand Moff Palpatine had been fond of, and when the opportunity came for a petty reprimand, he’d seized it in his bony hands. 

  
  


The quicker they routed out the pathetic rebellion, the faster Vader could leave the graveyard they were currently orbiting. 

  
  
  
  


“Lord Vader,” Came a voice behind him. Vader ignored him for a moment, staring at the sand-covered surface of Tatooine. When he turned, the man took a step back before righting himself. 

When Vader still said nothing, the Lieutenant cleared his throat and began to speak. 

“We’ve received the report from Commander Oswald on the ground.” He said. “The source of the Rebel compound was the doctor, as speculated. He said he has also captured the contact, and is awaiting your orders.” 

“The contact was not due for another hour.” Vader said. “Is he certain?” 

The man looked down at his datapad as though he had been dreading the very question. 

“Uh, I believe, Sir, that a young boy came by, claiming to have an appointment. He’s suspected as the contact, and is currently undergoing interrogation.” 

“A young boy.” Vader repeated, for once forgoing a reprimand for the man’s almost incomprehensible address. The man flinched at his sonorous voice. “How young?” 

“The report says an adolescent.” The Lieutenant replied. “Showed deceptive behaviour when asked about his ties to the Rebellion.” 

Vader felt a sense of disgust at children being implemented to fight a coward’s war. Truly, the Rebel’s audacity knew no bounds. But it made sense; there were thousands of children, orphaned and alone. A lot of them were placed in that very position by Vader himself. There would be plenty of angry children wanting to get back at the Empire, to die foolishly for a failed system. The Republic would never return. 

“Send me the report,” Vader said, taking a step forward. The Lieutenant flinched at the movement, as if expecting to be struck. Vader was tempted to fulfil his fear, but kept his rage in check, leaving the bridge and heading for his chambers. 

  
  


The hyperbaric chamber was his only sanctuary. Vader climbed in, the constant ache of his limbs flaring up in pain at the awkward clamber. He did not allow his mask to disengage, knowing that there was no time for a meditative rest. Sleep was no longer a necessity in Vader’s life, and there was nothing he wanted less than to waste anymore time in this force-forsaken system. 

The report was waiting for him in his high-priority inbox. He scanned the document quickly, before growling in frustration. It was a droid-automated transcript from a holo-recording. At the end of the report was a link to the original transmission from Commander Oswald. Vader plugged the datapad into a terminal, impatient. 

“This is Commander Oswald reporting.” The flickering blue of the man said briskly. “I have captured two potential rebel spies. Doctor Kismet has admitted to working with the rebellion, but his younger counterpart is proving more difficult. For one, the child is in no database I can find. He has also withstood considerable interrogation measures. I suspect the boy has been indoctrinated into the rebellion for most of his life, perhaps since birth. I’ve deduced that the child, who claims to be a young Luke Skywalker of the Lars moisture farm, is operating under an alias. I am continuing with interrogation and await instruction…” 

Vader reared back like the words had been a physical assault. 

The Rebels not only dared to employ children in their war, but gave out his former identity like a hand-me-down? The name of Skywalker was dead, buried, cremated. The dark side welled up around him, frustration and rage almost a physical, vibrating thing, permeating the over-oxygenated air of his meditation chamber. 

He let his respirator work for several seconds. Then he pressed the com-link in front of him. The Lieutenant from the bridge answered, looking faint. 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

“Have my shuttle readied.” Vader said, opening the jaws of his chamber with a hiss. “Failure to do so before I arrive at the hangar is not advised, Lieutenant.” 

* * *

Time felt like it had taken on a different meaning. 

Luke was unsure if it had been a full day, or only hours. 

He was feeling cold and clammy all over, and his chest was sore and chafed from the belt encircling it.

He’d slept briefly to the sounds of Oswald torturing the man beside him. Last he'd heard, Kismet had been screaming, something about a Zygerrian man, but he hadn't been able to make out the words. Now all attention had returned to Luke. 

Doctor Kismet had finally been allowed a respite. He’d lost the ability to talk an hour ago. He’d spilled fourth secrets and information that Luke did not understand. But most of all, he’d begged Oswald to let Luke go. From where the Doctor was now slumped, he looked dead. 

“Luke,” Oswald said. He had his back to him, his military posture slightly crouched as he pored over a com-link. 

Luke didn’t reply. He was terribly thirsty, and each time he took a breath his ribs ached, the result of a powerful punch that had left him howling. His arms stung from where the droid's monstrous needles had pricked him, electrifying his muscles. 

Oswald turned on his heel, clapping his hands. Kismet murmured fitfully in his sleep, a glob of snot popping at the unconscious exhale. Not dead, then. 

Luke could feel his stomach roll over at the thought of more pain. 

“Still with us?” Oswald asked. He came to stand close, and Luke wanted nothing more than to shuffle away. He’d tried to throw himself back, to break the chair and make a run for it, but it had been such a pitiful effort that the trooper standing over him had just sighed through his helmet and hauled him back up onto all four legs. 

“I’m telling the truth.” Luke murmured. It had become his mantra since he’d been captured. Every time he said it, however, it fell on deaf ears. “Please just let me go.” 

He hoped, in vain, that this time it would work. They’d let him back home, and this nightmare would be over. The thought of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru, sick and worried at the farm made tears form in his eyes. Luke had tried his best to hold out on crying, but Oswald had dragged it out of him with expert precision. He seemed to enjoy watching tears spill out and down his cheeks.

Oswald tsked, looking down at him with a sad smile. “It’s not a matter of you telling the truth anymore.” He said. “I know, that trooper knows, Doctor Kismet knows, that you’re the rebel contact. An unexpected tactic, but there’s nothing the rebellion wouldn’t pull. Clearly, they’ve become desperate, sending children.” 

Luke flinched as a hand came out, expecting a blow. But Oswald merely ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. 

“I do see the benefit. Children are impressionable, malleable. They’ve been in your head since birth, haven’t they? You probably don’t even understand what you’re doing.” 

“I'm not..” Luke protested weakly, but Oswald just shook his head, smile returning. 

“If you weren’t, Luke, then where is the rebel contact, hm? You’re the only one who came. You aren’t in any databases. It doesn’t take much to figure it out now.” 

Luke tried to move away from Oswald’s hand, who sighed and took a step back.

“Let me tell you something.” Oswald said. “I’ve let you do a lot of talking, haven’t I?” 

A lot of the screaming, more like. But Luke said nothing. No matter what he said, Oswald would drone on, keep hurting him. It felt like it would never end. 

“Please…” Luke said weakly. Oswald shushed him, taking a casual seat on Kismet’s desk, carelessly pushing the contents to the floor with a crash. 

“My first assignment was in Ithor. Comms down, half the legion dead. We were waiting a long time for evacuation.” Oswald crossed his legs, looking up at the ceiling as if in a fond memory. “We were on Ithor because we’d tracked some rebels there. And in that time we were waiting for back-up, there were plenty to process for information. It was there that I really honed my craft. And, you know what I learnt, Luke?” 

Luke felt the air around him growing cold. He couldn’t believe the pain that stemmed from every limb, the sheer exhaustion that made his head loll back and forward. There was nothing he could compare it to. All those times that he’d felt worn from work or being out in the heat were insignificant. Oswald’s monologue was hardly registering, but he continued on, nonetheless. Clearly, he liked the sound of his own voice. 

“I learnt that interrogation wasn’t always about brute force. That’s where so many were going wrong. I broke a woman by playing the same song on repeat for three days. _My Baby from Crul,_ if you wanted to know. That water trick I tried with our old friend Kismet, I learnt that on that mission. Others, it takes a little bit of compassion, kindness. You understand?” Oswald asked. “Like what I’ve shown you today.” 

“I’m pretty sure this isn’t what most people see as kindness,” Luke rasped before he could help himself. He saw a flash of something in the Commander’s eyes, but not much more. 

“I like you,” Oswald declared. “But I don’t think you respond well to that approach.” He gestured to the unconscious Doctor. “Him, on the other hand? His weakness was _you._ Had you not shown up, he wouldn’t have said a word.” 

“Everybody has a weakness,” Oswald continued. He pushed off of the desk with a sigh. “And it’s my job to find it.” 

Luke tensed when Oswald began to circle his chair. When the man stood behind him, all the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Any second now, he was going to hurt him, and worst of all was that Luke couldn’t see it coming. Another bout of tears came, and Luke hung his head in embarrassed terror. 

“Commander,” A muffled voice said from the archway. Luke glanced up blearily, feeling Oswald pause in his ominous pace. 

“What is it, trooper?” Oswald asked, the lilting tone of his interrogating voice flowing into a far harsher address. 

“Lord Vader is coming down from orbit personally, sir.” The trooper replied. His voice was almost awe-filled from behind his helmet.

“And he’d like to speak with the prisoner upon his arrival.” 

Luke could not see Oswald, but he reckoned that he sounded shaken as he gave a quick dismissal. Immediately, he went about busying himself, straightening his jacket and fixing his hair. When he felt Luke watching him, he gave him a smile full of white teeth. 

“If you won’t talk for me,” He said gleefully. “You’ll talk for Lord Vader. He’s an inspiration to me. One of the reasons I joined the ISB branch in the first place.” 

“I told you already,” Luke whispered. It felt like he’d swallowed a mouthful of sand, but he struggled on. “I don’t know anything about the rebels. My Aunt-”

“-And Uncle are sick and you came for medicine, yes, yes, I remember.” Oswald said dismissively. He turned on his heel, hands pulling away from his slicked hair. “How do I look?” 

Luke hung his head with a groan, but Oswald only laughed.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Two troopers, leaning against a dusty land speeder, jumped as if they’d been shot when they saw Vader approach. The site of such informality raised his ire, and he saw them both shudder as he stormed past them. 

He’d come down through the atmosphere full-throttle, and would have wrecked the landing gear if he’d been a less experienced pilot. Another snarl of irritation garbled out of his vocoder as he saw the Imperial speeders from a distance; how had they expected to capture the contact when they were parading themselves around? 

His gloves creaked as he clenched his prothetic hands. The temptation to take his lightsaber and raze this force-forsaken town to ash climbed with every step he took. 

Vader had never visited the Anchorhead medical centre, in that distant shadow of memory that he refused to touch. The domed building felt like a blow to his gut, but he kept walking, ducking beneath the sandstone archway. The reception was filthy for a facility claiming to practice medicine, but he expected as much from Tatooine. 

His hearing implants picked up a faint string of whimpering from the back room. He was sure that the heavy stride of his boots and his respirator had already announced him, but no officer came out to greet Vader for several seconds. 

It was almost as though they were trying to get a taste of his rage.

He stood for a second in the sand-filled room, the familiar layout ripping at a thousand blisters, pricking every inch of skin. The dark side fed on his agony like a festering parasite. 

“Lord Vader.” 

Vader glared at the man, a Commander, through his lenses. Despite the impassive expression of his mask, the officer before him seemed to pick up on his belligerence. He cleared his throat after several moments of tense silence, staying at attention. 

“Show me the prisoners.” Vader finally boomed, noting with disgust that the man flinched slightly at his sonorous voice. Pathetic. 

He nodded and turned, leading him around a sand-stone archway. 

There were two prisoners, as reported. He recognised Doctor Kismet, old and decrepit, slumped against restraints in a medical examination chair. The other occupant of the room was hardly the familiar Rebel Vader was so used to seeing. A boy, younger than he had thought. He had expected some fool-hardy teenager, filled with false bravado, recklessly parading around with his old, dead name. Instead, there was a mere child, staring up through a sweat-coated fringe. He was tied in a similar fashion to the other prisoner, but Vader could see that he’d been put through a harsh bout of interrogation. 

Commander Oswald, he recalled, had not been his recommendation for this mission. He fancied himself a master at his craft, but seemed to be heavy handed and sadistic. Vader sensed the man’s poorly-concealed excitement, which was rapidly dousing at the lack of positive response. Vader wanted to snap his neck, but restrained himself. 

He took another step into the room. Neither prisoner reacted to his footfall, nor the echo of his respirator. 

“Doctor Kismet received stage three procedures.” Commander Oswald spoke out into the silence a moment later. “He revealed a significant amount of information. I believe he is still useful, should you wish it, my Lord.” 

“You have almost killed him.” Vader remarked, feeling the man’s weak life presence. He did not care for the Rebel’s life, or even the secrets he had stored. Still, such carelessness irked him. 

Unwillingly, like a physical pull, his attention turned to the boy. 

For the second time, the Commander spoke out of turn, noting where Vader’s gaze had moved. 

“This is Luke Skywalker, my Lord.” Oswald supplied. “Incredibly resistant to all approaches.” 

Vader reached out to feel the state of the boy’s mind, only to feel something so profound that he almost took a step backwards. 

The force presence of the boy was all-encompassing, as bright and magnetic as a collapsing star. How had he not noticed it before? With the pure strength and magnitude, Vader should have been able to sense the child from orbit. There was a strange familiarity, as though he recognised the signature. But that was false - any Jedi he had been familiar with were long dead, and no inquisitor would give off such an untainted presence. 

Dimly, Vader noticed that the Commander was still talking. Ignoring him, he reached forward to grasp the child’s chin. 

Eyes immediately opened, hazed and most definitely drugged. That signature Vader had felt unfolded and flooded his senses, like a Kryt Dragon unfurling from a slumber. 

When the boy noted just who was holding his face, he bucked back desperately with a groan of pain. Vader held on, the dark side latching onto the boy’s mind. Untrained, he noted immediately. Unaware of his powers completely, but incredibly strong in the force. Interesting. 

“Wha-?” The boy yelped, trying desperately now to be released. He felt a swell of anger come from the Commander, and felt the man’s desire to correct the insolence. Ironic, considering the insolence he himself had so flagrantly showcased. 

Vader let go, and the boy’s head fell against his chest with a slump. 

“The datapad, Commander.” 

He read through the information quickly. Skywalker, Luke. Thirteen standard years. Date of birth, year 0 on the Imperial Galactic Calendar. Occupant of Lars Moisture Farm. There was little else, besides the listed names of his guardians. Beru and Owen Lars. Their names were like blades, slicing at him, mutilating him further. He almost let himself remember that horrible evening, igniting his lightsaber and truly allowing himself to fall into the dark side, dishonouring the memory of his mother with such a violent act. Desecrating the land and leaving a well of bloodshed and pain. 

The edges of the datapad cracked under his gloves, and the Commander gave an audible gulp. 

“Sir?” He asked. 

“You fool,” Vader said, throwing the datapad carelessly. It hit off of a shelf, sending spare droid parts scattering across the sandstone. Both prisoners flinched, despite varying levels of consciousness. “This child is no rebel spy. His guardians are legitimate farmers, though I assume you did not think to verify that?” 

Vader advanced on the Commander, who broke his parade rest to hastily step back. The boy whimpered in his seat, head lolling back, and pain radiated through the force at the movement. 

“I already told you,” Doctor Kismet suddenly groaned, thrashing with a newfound urgency. His voice, broken and shrill, cracked several times. “ _It’s not him!_ The contact is Zygerrian!” He trailed off, murmuring under his breath, falling back into his delirium. 

Vader stared down at the Commander, who was looking around frantically, as though a reasonable excuse would appear in the room around them. 

  
  


“He, well, I-” Oswald started, but quickly cut himself off when Vader raised a hand. 

“You have stationed Imperial troopers and speeders directly outside the rendezvous point.” Vader continued. “Effectively alerting the true Rebel contact to our presence. It is a rarity to find such blithering stupidity in a Commanding officer. Such failure will not be tolerated.” 

“My Lord, I promise that-” Whatever Commander Oswald had to promise, Vader was not interested. The dark side sang as he gripped the man’s throat with the force, tightening and constricting painfully slow, until he gasped and fell to the floor. Dust flew up around him as he writhed, choking on his stupidity. He died a coward, begging for his pitiful life.

Vader stepped over the corpse after a moment, and then quickly snapped the necks of the two troopers lurking through the archway. He stormed out into the crushing sunlight, frightening the lone trooper who had stayed at his post. 

“Alert your base camp that the contact was a Zygerrian.” Vader said. “Though, your Commander’s incompetence has likely allowed him to escape the system.” 

  
The trooper saluted quickly. “Yes, my Lord.” 

It was silent when Vader returned. Doctor Kismet had seemingly exhausted himself after his outburst. The child, Luke, was silently crying, eyes closed and chest trembling. No doubt he thought that he would be the next victim of his wrath. 

For a moment, Vader simply stood over the child. He paid no attention to Doctor Kismet, instead focusing on the upturned face before him. It was like a vision of his past had come, once more, to haunt him. Sun bleached hair and face, a cleft chin and the makings of a strong jaw…but smaller than he had ever been.

It became clear, although perhaps Vader had known from the very moment that he had heard the boy’s name…Luke Skywalker was his son. The force rang with truth and absolute clarity. 

He had thought for so long that he had killed the child. Choked in the womb as their mother gasped around his attack. Malformed and forever frozen in his wife’s corpse, laid to an eternal rest in Naboo’s capital. How many times had he stood over her grave, mourning his loss? 

Vader had been lied to. Deceived. He could not begin to fathom how his son had come to be on this planet, a planet no child of his should ever have even stepped foot on, let alone been raised upon. He sensed treachery’s withered hand at play. 

So many questions, so many discrepancies. But in that moment, it all ceased to matter. 

**_His son._ **

  
  


Luke Skywalker opened his eyes once more, and Vader reached out to him with one hand, stroking the hair back from his damp forehead. The boy flinched from the touch again, groaning and whimpering in despair. 

“It’s alright.” Vader said. The vo-corder made his voice boom; loud, authoritative. He’d never wished until right then that he could have been able to speak softly and quietly. And though his voice offered no comfort, the boy stopped his movement, shuddering. 

“I’m here.” Vader added after a pause, running a hand gently down his cheek. He wasn’t used to taking such care, and the words felt awkward and strange as he said them. 

“I feel it.” Luke slurred, and to Vader’s surprise, he leant into the touch. “I know you…” 

The child’s force signature reached out and entwined with his own, familiar and strange at the same time. Like a piece of old self almost. The dark side pulled back like a retreating tide, and for just a moment Vader felt like he was weightless, the suffocating armour gone, his skin unmarred, his lungs strong and healthy. This was how it had always meant to be. 

“Yes.” Vader replied. With a wave of his hand, the boy’s restraints fell and he slumped forward. Vader caught him beneath his armpits, and lifted him from the chair. His legs dangled uselessly, brushing Vader's cape. “As I know you, little one.” 

  
Luke’s eyes opened blearily, and his gaze managed to catch Vader’s through his lenses. He still looked afraid, uncertain, as though he was not truly convinced that the interrogation was over. Still, he did not attempt to free himself, instead further slackening into Vader’s hands. 

  
“They really are sick, you know.” Luke murmured, almost incoherent. “My Aunt and Uncle need a doctor.”

Vader considered the words. They were imposters, thieves. But they had kept his son safe, until now. He resisted the urge to fall to his rage, instead nodding his helmed head. 

  
“I will take care of it.” He replied. He gently set Luke down, only to catch him when he immediately stumbled. For a moment, Luke was pressed up against his armoured torso, slumped and deadweight, but Vader kept him standing. He was surprised by the overwhelming warmth that spread across him, a feeling he had not felt for so long that he hardly recognised it. 

“Promise?” Luke said, his voice smothered against Vader’s torso. 

He looked down at the boy. His son - _his son!_ He could barely believe it. But he knew it to be true with absolute certainty. 

The boy would never know pain or fear like this again. 

Although the damage had already been done, Vader shielded him from the bodies on the floor, holding him close with a soothing hand. The boy must truly be unwell, for he leant into his touch and sighed, legs shaking with effort. 

There was so much Vader must do. He would send medical officers to the Lars homestead, to show his appreciation for raising his son in his absence. It would be his mercy that allowed them their lives. 

Bringing Luke to his flagship would ensure many complications. It was more than likely that his Master would disapprove, or perhaps he would want to use Luke for his own selfish ends. But Vader would manage, he would adapt. Bend rules and pull at his chains to make room for his son. There was not a chance in the galaxy that he would let his son live on this hellscape, no matter how well meaning his guardians were. It was his duty to protect this boy's life with his own. Something that he should have been doing for the last thirteen years. He’d have to make up for lost time. 

He had fallen to the dark side for Luke. His wife had died to bring him into the world. He’d slain friends, brothers in arms, and countless innocents. For so long, his sacrifice had been for nothing. But now he was there, trembling in his arms like a newborn. The force had blessed him, more than he ever could possibly deserve.

No being in the galaxy would ever part them again.

“I promise.” Vader said, cupping the back of the boy’s head with a clumsy attempt at tenderness.

Luke hummed contentedly, and though Vader knew that it was likely due to being barely conscious and drugged, he still loved the sound, committing it to memory. But after a second, Luke pushed away weakly, struggling to pull back. 

“Will Doctor Kismet be alright?” He asked. Vader kept him close, lest he see the fallen Commander’s body on the floor. 

“Everything will be alright.” He replied, though he could not truly ensure that Kismet’s fate would be so. But Luke was too young to be told just what happened to Rebel operatives. He would do his best to protect that glowing innocence, the purity of his force signature, as bright and honest as a star core. 

  
  


“Let us leave this place.” Vader said after a moment. “You need medical attention.” 

“I’m okay.” Luke mumbled, though he made no move to step away from Vader. _He knows you and him are connected._ The thought came unwarranted, but Vader did not dismiss it. “But my Aunt and Uncle…” 

“Will be treated.” Vader replied. “But you need to be cared for, too.” He pushed as gently as he could on the boy’s shoulder, swivelling him to face the archway. “Come along.” 

“Sorry,” Luke breathed, and promptly collapsed to the floor. Vader caught him again, and there was barely a second of hesitation before he lifted him up and into his arms. Too light for his age, he noted. Not many on Tatooine were ever in peak health, and his son had been no exception. He'd have to change that. 

He'd carried his mother just like this, the last time he had been on Tatooine. She had been too light, too. 

He made haste to leave, wading through the sand after ordering the trooper to send a medical team to the Lars homestead. 

A small hand reached up to touch the underside of his mask, and Vader paused to look down for a moment. 

“I know you,” The boy said again, his words sluggish, but his eyes more clear and awake than they had been in the medical centre. “I can feel you…”

“Yes.” Vader replied, beginning to walk again. His shuttle gleamed under the twin suns. “We are connected.” 

“Where have you been?” Luke asked him as the ramp began to hiss and extend. His voice was tinged in sorrow, despite each word slurring into the other. 

Vader allowed his respirator to cycle, the boy’s words stinging more sharply than any burn or strike ever had.

“That matters not.” He said with conviction. He stopped, awaiting the ramp to hit the floor, and took the delicate hand in his own monstrous fist.

“I am here now. I will never leave you again.” 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I know this kind of idea has probably been done a thousand times but I'm a sucker for this sort of trope lol  
> you can always come and say hi to me on tumblr at survive-together :)


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